


The Variety of Silence

by Nidor_and_Petrichor



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Desk Sex, Gratuitous Smut, I've set myself on a dangerous path, Loud Carlos, Loud Sex, M/M, Quiet Cecil, Quiet Sex, Sex in Semi-Public Places, Talkin' 'Bout Mastrubation, it's basically all just sex okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nidor_and_Petrichor/pseuds/Nidor_and_Petrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All of this is to say, Carlos and Cecil have come to terms with two very different interpretations of what 'alone time' means. And there are certain needs which are best taken care of – well, best taken care of in intimate company but, barring that – by oneself, alone. And the nature of being by oneself dramatically impacts how one considers such needs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Variety of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the amazing advertisement segment in _Street Cleaning Day_ : "Target is a great place to shop, and they would like you to consider the variety of silence in this world...."
> 
> (The fic has little to do with the bulk of that monologue, though.)

Carlos had been alone for a long time.

Not _too_ long, since that would imply that there was a limit at which he was allowed to be by himself, but long enough. He woke up alone, he ate breakfast alone, he showered alone, he went grocery shopping alone, he moved furniture alone, he lounged on his couch and watched movies alone. Sure, he interacted with people on a regular basis – he spent time at the lab with his team, he went to Big Rico's every week for his mandatory slice – but at the end of it all, when he returned home, he returned home alone.

He thought Night Vale was going to finally solve this problem once and for all: how can one be alone when the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your House, and the secret police, and the representatives of the vague-yet-menacing government agency are always there, watching, listening? While it's true that the Faceless Old Woman did occasionally alter his belongings or leave him passive-aggressive notes, for the most part these figuratively-and-literally faceless entities preferred to stay out of sight themselves, and chose not to interact with him directly.

Cecil, on the other hand, has _not_ been alone in a very long time.

As a child he'd shared a bedroom, lulled to sleep by his brother's snores and woken each morning by his screaming match with their sister over who got to use the bathroom first. As a young man he lived in a dorm room, visually divided down the middle by the line of clutter which changed abruptly from notepads and audio equipment to paintbrushes and hatchets. After graduation, during his travels to Europe, he slept in strange hostels with stranger bunkmates and felt that there was always something following right behind him. These days he lives in an apartment, and he may as well have roommates once more for all the good the paper-thin walls do.

Sure, when Michaela, from sales, goes out of town he'll often pet-sit for her, staying in her cute little ranch house near the high school. Alone-with-a-Weimaraner is a nice change of pace. It's quiet there, peaceful. After a few days, though, he is always ready to return home, since at least his own apartment doesn't come equipped with a wet-nosed alarm clock perpetually set for six-thirty in the morning.

All of this is to say, Carlos and Cecil have come to terms with two very different interpretations of what “alone time” means. And there are certain needs which are best taken care of – well, _best_ taken care of in intimate company but, barring that – by oneself, alone. And the nature of being by oneself dramatically impacts how one considers such needs.

The masturbatory habits practiced by Cecil would probably best be described as “jerking off”. Out of necessity, he has perfected the exact position, speed and rotational movement required to achieve completion in as short a timeframe as possible. This takes place most frequently in the shower, where the small sticky noises are lost to the roar of water, or late at night and under covers, the movements muted by blankets and the quiet moans muffled by pillows.

Carlos' actions, conversely, would be more accurately described as “pleasuring himself”. When he finds himself aroused – by images on the internet, or movies on television, or, yes, a voice on the radio – there is nothing to prevent him from touching himself wherever he may be. Variety adds an illusion of unpredictability, and he will vary his technique, knowing that if it proves only moderately satisfactory he can always try again later. His favorite arrangement, however, is on mornings when there is nowhere he needs to be and he is able to slowly ease himself into the day with a long, drawn-out orgasm.

 

*

 

So far there has been an awful lot of kissing, a little bit of biting, and some really wonderful friction, but not much more than that. Carlos has Cecil pinned beneath him on the couch, his weight holding the other man in place, although there are certainly no complaints to be heard. In fact, there's not a whole lot to be heard in general. Carlos is slightly concerned that things aren't going well, simply because Cecil is so quiet.

“ _Ugh_ , yeah, that's so good,” Carlos breathes as Cecil simultaneously plants open-mouthed kisses down his neck and gives a firm squeeze to his ass. “You feel amazing – you're amazing. _Mmm_ , I really want to blow you right now, can I blow you?” He murmurs it against Cecil's temple, then realizes what he's done and winces. He's babbling to fill the silence.

Cecil's hips jerk upward, and his eyes roll back. His breath is short and fast, but he doesn't say anything.

Carlos pulls back and begins to scoot lower. “Is that okay, Cecil? If I suck you off?”

“Yeah,” Cecil finally says, more of an exhale than a word. “Yeah – _nngh_ – yeah.”

Carlos isn't even particularly into dirty talk, but this is the furthest they've gone so far and he'd like a little feedback on his technique, to be honest. It feels like he's setting the tone for the entire relationship, setting up all future expectations, and he wants this to be good – he wants this to be the best Cecil's ever had (or will have, until next time, and the time after that). And he thinks it would be helpful if his boyfriend could manage to be a little more vocal about it. He uses his voice for a living, after all, shouldn't he be able to talk in bed a bit? That would be nice.

The matter becomes irrelevant for the moment as they collaboratively struggle to get Cecil's pants, shoes and socks off. His shirt is still on, unbuttoned and loose, and Carlos loves the sight of it, just slightly debauched looking.

Carlos, now laying between Cecil's crooked knees, noses at the place where thigh meets groin.

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“How do you like it?” Carlos asks again, then clarifies, “Do you want it fast? Slow? Do you like having your balls played with? Or somewhere else? Anything special you want me to do?”

“I–” Cecil starts, “I don't– whatever you want, Carlos, whatever you–”

“Okay,” Carlos says, trailing tiny sucking kisses low across Cecil's stomach, watching it jump in response. “Let me know if you want me to keep going or speed up or whatever.”

Cecil huffs a breath in response. _Too many decisions_ , he thinks. _Just go for it._

Carlos lets his hands wander while his mouth goes to work, moving slowly and savoring the experience. He can tell that Cecil is trying hard not to buck his hips. There's no noise other than the slick, wet sound of suction and licking.

Carlos looks up to see that Cecil has a clenched fist pressed tight against his lips, his face a mask of concentration and intensity. Carlos gently tugs the hand away – and reaches for the other as well – and leads them both to rest against his own head. One palm rests gently against his jaw while the other carefully cards his hair, both twitching slightly in time with Carlos' movements.

Without anything in place to muffle it, the tiny whimpers that Cecil is making become audible. Carlos hums in pleasure at the noise, the vibrations transferring directly to Cecil. They begin a sort of feedback loop, Carlos now blatantly egging Cecil on, trying to wring louder and more desperate noises from him. They each give a particularly loud groan, in succession, when there is a sudden, sharp rapping of a fist against a wall, coming from the apartment next door.

They both freeze. Cecil looks utterly mortified, and Carlos nearly chokes, trying to laugh with a cock halfway down his throat. They make eye contact and Carlos lets out the loudest, filthiest moan that he can muster without giggling. He can tell it has its desired effect, but Cecil shoves his fist back in his mouth. There is another sharp knock. Carlos repeats the sound twice more, longer and lower, with more commitment, and then Cecil is shaking apart under him, coming – silently – in his mouth.

When Cecil comes down from his high he pulls Carlos close and kisses him thoroughly before whispering, “Ugh, sorry about that.”

“Sorry about what?” Carlos asks, voice slightly husky. They'd talked about diseases before anything serious or physical started between them and they're both clean, and he doesn't mind swallowing, in any case. He felt that fact had been pretty clear.

“The neighbors,” Cecil says, burrowing his face into Carlos' shoulder to hide his blush. “That was amazing, my darling Carlos – just _wow_ – but – how _embarrassing_!”

Carlos laughs, “They'll get over it, I'm sure.”

“But I have to face them in the hallways! And at the mailboxes! And in the stairs! And now they know... well... that we....”

“Cecil,” Carlos says, gently, pulling the other man close. “You talk about me – about my _body_ – on the radio all the time. I'm sure it's not going to be a surprise. To anybody.”

Cecil lets his head fall back with a _thump_ , but says nothing.

 

*

 

“I can't believe you talked me into this,” Carlos hisses, the small of his back pressed against the edge of a desk.

“You faced down a miniature army under a bowling alley, and went bravely into the unknown dangers lurking behind a door that does not exist,” Cecil says against his ear, leaning in, forcing him to arch his back. “You even tried to _buy a condo_! Don't tell me you're afraid of being caught in your own office?”

The office in question is in the newly-constructed science wing of the Night Vale Community College where Carlos will soon be spending a great deal of time. Cecil originally proposed this particular use of the room during the ribbon-cutting ceremony, but the crowds and constant congratulations – as well as Carlos' hesitance – prevented them from following through with it. Now, on move-in day, Cecil has somehow convinced him that it would be a really terrific idea to properly christen the space. Which, of course, involves a mid-afternoon quickie while the entire faculty are milling about in the hallways.

Being in the center block of the building the office is windowless, which was originally a bit depressing but now seems like a godsend.

“I am a scientist, and a scientist is not afraid of his coworkers,” Carlos mutters, indignant.

“Great,” Cecil says, grabbing Carlos' knee and lifting it so that it can wrap around his own waist. Carlos takes the cue and lays back against the desk, letting Cecil fumble with his belt.

“A scientist just has certain... professional appearances to preserve in the workplace,” Carlos continues as a warning. At least, he considers, there's nothing on the desk yet – well, except them – so if there's ever a time to do this, it's probably now, when they don't run the risk of inadvertently pushing something off and breaking it. Or making a ruckus and drawing attention to themselves.

He snaps back to reality as he feels his jeans and boxer briefs pulled partway down his thighs. Cecil begins a masterful maneuver of multitasking in which his right hand reaches to unbutton his own pants while his left hand begins stroking Carlos.

Probably the only reason Carlos is agreeing to this now is that the sexual tension has been building for hours. It started this morning when he'd pressed himself against Cecil's back and woke him up with light, playful touches. Cecil accused him of being a tease and insisted on striking a bargain: Carlos could do what he wanted if, and only if, Cecil got to live out his office-christening fantasy that afternoon.

Still using only one hand, Cecil manages to roll on a condom for easy clean up and then begins the slow, inexorable press into Carlos. They've been ready; they've been waiting to do this for hours.

Carlos groans and suddenly the hand which had been pulling and twisting so nicely against his cock is gone, clamped over his mouth. Cecil is still pushing forward, and it feels so good, even with – especially with? – the hard, unyielding desk against his back and his head is thrown back, but Cecil is crowding him, kissing him roughly. When he's finally all the way in he stills and waits for Carlos to do the same.

“Professional appearances, remember?” Cecil whispers, holding a finger to Carlos' lips. “We should keep it down, don't you think?”

 _So that's what this is about,_ Carlos thinks. Just the other day Cecil was teasing him about how much he talked during sex. Not that Cecil minded, exactly, it just struck him as unusual, though Carlos couldn't really see why.

Instead of responding verbally, Carlos relaxes his jaw and draws Cecil's finger into his mouth. Cecil grins, knowing the challenge has been accepted.

He sets a fast and forceful pace, one hand gripping Carlos' thigh to keep him from sliding on the polished wood, the other being sucked and licked with a great deal of enthusiasm. The beginning rumbles of another moan begin low in Carlos' ribcage. In retaliation Cecil sticks another finger into his mouth, and gives a little pinch to the soft skin at the crease of Carlos' hip as a reminder.

Carlos' eyes fly open in surprise, the noise aborted halfway to completion. His pupils are huge and after the initial moment of shock, the look turns predatory. He tenses his legs, using his calves and ankles to pull Cecil in even closer. He reaches a hand up and under Cecil's shirt, tweaking at his nipple.

Despite himself, Cecil gasps a little at the sensation, until he realizes how smug the reaction has made his partner. He goes harder, faster, the sex now a competition to see who will break first by making a noise.

Both men tense as a series of heavy footfalls clomp down the corridor. Dave always wears boots – is it Dave, coming to find Carlos to ask a question? The sounds pass and they resume their rythym.

A few moments later a click of heels approaches from the opposite direction. Jenny, the office assistant, said she'd be coming around to collect move-in paperwork at some point. They each ready themselves once more, but the sharp sound of shoes on linoleum fades into the distance without stopping.

The constant alertness has Cecil close, so close, and by the way Carlos is writhing against the desk, he's right there, too. Cecil takes his spit-slicked hand from Carlos' mouth and returns it to its original position, fisting up and down around Carlos' cock. It doesn't take long before he's using aggressive, deep kisses to rein in the filthy sounds that Carlos is trying to make as he comes into Cecil's hand, his whole body stuttering wildly.

Unable to hold off any longer himself, Cecil follows suit. He gasps once, barely audible, before going breathless, shaking, clutching at any part of Carlos he can reach, leaving a sticky mess on the side of his lab coat.

Taking a deep breath to get the oxygen returning to his body, Cecil is moving again almost instantly, giving Carlos another peck on the lips and pulling out in one smooth motion. By the time Carlos has sufficiently returned to awareness to be of any use, Cecil has already tidied both of them up and is pulling him up into a sitting position.

“Ready to get the rest of your stuff from the car?” Cecil asks, voice at a normal volume, carefully rearranging Carlos' hair into a less... tousled arrangement.

“I–” Carlos starts, then realizes he can't think of a single thing to say. “Um. Sure?”

Cecil gives him a quick smile and helps him down from the desk. He needs help; his legs don't seem to be terribly supportive right now. Carlos shrugs off the lab coat and hastily folds it inside out. He'll stuff it in his bag before they leave, so that nobody notices that a portion of it is becoming suspiciously hard and flaky.

There is a sharp knock on the door.

Cecil goes to unlock it, opening it in a single, smooth motion, grinning. It's Rochelle. Carlos glances at her feet: she's wearing sneakers. He hadn't heard her approach. While the occasion refusal to stay and cuddle can be a source of tension between them, he is suddenly immensely grateful for Cecil's fast recovery time.

“Hey, Cecil,” Rochelle says, voice completely normal.

 _She has no idea_ , Carlos realizes. He tries to straighten his posture, tries to wipe the just-been-fucked bliss off of his face.

“Hey, Carlos,” she says, as Cecil opens the door wider and she spots him in the background. She must know. They must reek of sex, right? Maybe the chemical-lemon scent of the freshly constructed and cleaned office is masking it. He hopes so. “We're going to get a bite to eat at the diner when we're done unpacking, probably around five-thirty, six o'clock. You guys in?”

“We'd love to,” Cecil smiles, and Carlos nods mutely from his spot near the desk.

“Great! Well, unfortunately, I've still got about a million more things to move in the meantime,” Rochelle turns to head down the hall, her rubber-soled feet treading silently. She calls back over her shoulder, “I'll find you when I'm done, or you can help me if you finish here first!”

“Do you think she knows?” Carlos asks under his breath. Cecil shakes his head and smiles, holding out a hand for Carlos. Carlos takes it and allows himself to be led back out to the parking lot. There is an empty cup in the drink holder of the car, the abandoned ice not yet fully melted, even in the hot desert sun. While time is strange in Night Vale, they can't have been gone long.

“Little does she know we _already_ 'finished here',” Cecil says, smirking, as he pulls out several boxes of files, balancing them on his knee as he gets a better grip on them.

Carlos almost drops his stack of books. “Keep it down!” he hisses, glancing furtively around the empty parking lot.

Cecil laughs.

Loudly.

**Author's Note:**

> Why did this happen? I don't knooow. But apparently I've gotten over that whole being-shy-about-writing-sex-scenes business, hopefully with not-too-horrible results (urk!). Better post this before I think better of it, though.
> 
> Let me know if you have tagging suggestions or feedback, or whatever.


End file.
